Ill Met By Moonlight
by ZQ
Summary: While vacationing in London, four friends become involved in a series of terrifying events, all centered around a monster that haunts the night, a strange English gentleman, and his intense affections for a certain American student in their company. Kink Meme de-anon. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

In an elegant private room in Paris, Francis Bonnefoy leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine from his glass. He had been in this room enough times to learn to treasure the peaceful time the early evening brought. There were only two other people in the room with him - he had paid good money to make sure of that fact - but he knew that with enough drink and sufficiently high stakes, the classy room would degenerate into a sailor's pub.

Across from Francis, a German man was taking his seat. He was an odd-looking man, with white hair, whiter skin, and red eyes. Francis paid this no mind. He had met so many strange people in his dalliances through Parisian night life that an albino such as Gilbert Beilschmidt hardly registered as unusual.

"Hey, Antonio did you bring the cards?" Gilbert asked, turning in his seat to face the Spaniard still helping himself to a drink.

"I have some," Francis offered.

Gilbert snorted. "The ones with those naked women on them? Not tonight, thanks. I can beat you all even with those distractions, but you two will need clear heads!"

Antonio, who was heading back to the table with his drink, ruffled Gilbert's hair. "Oh Gilbert, it is so cute when you pretend those things don't bother you!"

"They don't!"

"Yes, yes," said Antonio, taking a seat and pulling a deck of cards from his pocket. "We all know that you are not Francis. There is no need to hide it." Antonio nodded at Francis. "_He_ certainly won't be hiding anything, by the time the evening is out!"

"Why bother hiding anything?" Francis purred, downing some more wine. "Our bodies are divine works of art, created in God's own image. Devout as you are, Gilbert, would you deny me the opportunity to pay worship to His greatest works?"

"I still want to use Antonio's deck," replied Gilbert.

Antonio laughed and handed him the cards, for scuffling. "I am hoping for some good games tonight," he said. "I think neither of you stand a chance against me tonight, hmm?"

Gilbert grinned. "As if! I'm hoping you aren't so drunk that you cry like a child when I win every round!"

"And I am hoping," said Francis, "that with enough bottles of wine, one of you might get drunk enough to accompany me to alone to the back room."

"Why bother go all the way over there?" asked Gilbert, shuffling the cards. "This room cost enough that no one's going to bother us tonight.

Francis tipped back his head and laughed. "Only the best for my dearest friends."

"Your only friends, you mean."

"Gilbert, you wound me! I have many friends."

"Yes, yes, we are just the only ones who you do not have to pay for an evening out."

"_I_ am hoping that with enough wine, Francis might tell some stories," Antonio cut in.

"I might, I might not." Francis smirked. "Perhaps you would want details of that lovely lady several years back, the one with the wooden leg? It came off, and she could use it for all sorts of marvelous tricks..."

"Oh no," said Antonio. "I was hoping for the story of why you swore to never again set foot in London."

Francis choked, mid-sip of his wine. Gilbert froze in the middle of dealing the cards. The two men glanced at each other, before turning to Antonio.

"Did I never tell you?" asked Francis. His voice was lighthearted, but with the slightest quiver. "I am sure I must have."

"And I am sure you did not," said Antonio. "Please, dear Francis! I must know why you abandoned an entire city. Surely it is not because of its location, or else you would have foresworn the whole of England!"

Francis chuckled weakly. "_Mon ami_, I assure you that it is for no such reason. Granted, dismal London could never compare to the beauty of Paris. But no, it is not for that."

"Then what?"

"He does not wish to say," growled Gilbert, busying himself with dealing the cards. "Do not bother him, Antonio."

Antonio furrowed his brow. "Am I a bother, Francis?"

"Not at all," said the Frenchman. "But this story...I do not wish to say."

"Come now! Are you suddenly so weak-willed that you can not bring yourself to repeat a story?"

"It is not fear that makes me reluctant to speak, _mon ami_, or at least not the fear you think it is," said Francis. "I fear not recalling the events that transpired, but rather that you will dismiss it all as no more than a flight of fantasy, experienced only after I acquainted myself with one bottle of wine too many."

"Tell the story anyway!" Antonio begged. "Either I believe you or I don't. If I do, you have one more person who knows this strange truth you speak of. If I don't, your reputation is none the worse, for I already know of the adventures wine has taken you on."

"Quiet, Antonio," said Gilbert, the man unusually grave. "Don't talk about this."

"_Non_. It is fine." Francis smiled at his friends. It might have looked perfectly natural, but it did not entirely mask the pain and sorrow in his eyes. "I suppose it is best that I tell the tale. Better to speak of it amongst friends, than regard it as a child does a monster in the night."

Gilbert did not look convinced. "Francis, are you sure...?"

"Entirely. It shall be our evening entertainment. Something to distract us before our supplies of luck and wine are gone."

Gilbert did not look convinced, but said nothing, in favor of focusing on his cards. Antonio hardly paid his hand any attention, instead watching Francis with eager eyes.

Francis sighed softly and looked at his hand. It was not a bad one. Perhaps he might even win, tonight. "Now then," he said, looking back at his friends. "Gilbert, I realize that some of this will not be unknown to you. For Antonio's sake, however, I must tell this all, so please be patient. It was one year ago, almost to the day, when this happened. At the time, there were three of us staying in London: myself, Gilbert, and Matthieu. You do know of my little brother Matthieu, do you not?" he added, to Antonio. "I realize you have never met him, but I am sure I told you of him."

"The one continuing his studies in Canada?" Antonio nodded. "_Si_, I know who you speak of. Go on."

"It looked as if an enjoyable holiday was in store for us," Francis continued. "I had not seen Matthieu in many months, and I was looking forward to our time together immensely. And as if that were not enough, Matthieu sent word before making the crossing to England. You see, during his time studying abroad, he met a young man who he fell in with and eventually befriended. He had told this friend much about his beloved older brother - about _moi_ - and he was most eager for the opportunity to finally introduce said friend to me. Thus, his friend would be joining us in London as well."

"That sounds like you were set for a wonderful time!" exclaimed Antonio. "What was the friend's name?"

"Alfred Jones," said Francis. "That was the man's name."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

To this day, I am not entirely certain how my Matthieu became friends with Alfred. All I was ever told was that he was a student from America, and the two happened to meet while staying at Niagera Falls. There was an uncanny physical resemblance between the two, I will admit, however all similarities ended there. My sweet Matthieu, as quiet and shy as he is, found himself constantly overlooked when Alfred was in the room. _Mon diu_, but that boy commanded attention! Still, whatever the reasons, those two enjoyed each other's company so well that many they met in London mistook them for brothers.

The first few days of our stay in London were marvelous. We attended operas and theater performances and, if we could secure invitations, parties nightly. During the day, we explored the town. Alfred Jones, spirited as he was, loved nothing more than to wander the streets with Matthieu, taking in all of the fashions and buildings and such things.

Near the end of our first week together, we decided to meet at a pub. You know the one, Gilbert, the little one on that corner. Yes, The London Birds! That's the one, thank you! Gilbert and I frequently visited that pub when we were in London together, you see. The drinks are about as good as English alcohol can be, and the barmaids are most attractive.

There were only three of us at the pub on that particular evening - myself, Gilbert, and Alfred. Matthieu was feeling unwell that evening, the poor child, and decided to spend the night at home.

I'm not surprised you cannot recall much of that evening, Gilbert. It was a wonder that there was any beer left in that place by the time you left. What? No, I am not being high and mighty. I myself can recall precious little of that night. I think it is by the grace of God and a constable that we made it home, instead of waking up in a gutter.

But I digress.

I suppose that if Matthieu had not taken ill that evening, this story would not have happened. You see, Alfred did not spend the entire evening with us. He was concerned about the wellbeing of his friend, and wished to hurry back to our quarters to check on him. And so he drank with us and laughed and told outrageous stories for a mere two hours. He then paid for his drinks, bid us a good evening, and left for the quarters we rented.

I did not speak to Alfred until much later the next day. Gilbert and I slept through the morning - no, Gilbert, I assure you that you did.

Indeed, Antonio. The hangovers were the stuff of legend.

Alfred found me that afternoon in the sitting room, lying on the sofa, resting my pounding head. He asked, far too loudly in my opinion, if I knew of a short, British gentleman, with blond hair.

I was unable to think of anyone, though given my state at the time, I do not think I could be blamed. I asked him what in the world made him ask such a question.

"Oh, it was when I was walking home last night," said he. "I was going through this park and there was a man sitting on a bench. I might have walked right past him in the darkness, but his legs were stretched across the path and I tripped over them."

"While that is most interesting, I fail to see why you think I might know this gentleman," I replied.

"I'm getting to that. The man was not happy with me for tripping over him, and told me as much. I told him that it was not my fault he was blocking the path, and he shouldn't leave his legs sprawled where people would walk. I really wanted to get home to Matthew as quickly as possible, so I kept walking while I told him this. As I walked, I gave him a piece of my mind over my shoulder. Because of this, I did not realize that I had gone off of the path and was going to walk into a tree."

"How karmic," I said. "You escaped a hangover, only to ensure a headache in another manner. Well done."

"But I did not!" he said. "The man caught me by the arm and stopped me before I ran into the tree. He called me a clueless git and told me to watch where I was going, to which I said that I was always aware of my surroundings, and that I had no clue what a 'git' was. When I told him that, he just said 'Oh yes, your accent,' and then called me a stupid Yank. What _is_ a 'Yank', Francis?"

"It is short for 'Yankee'," I answered. Not for the first time, I found myself wondering how an intelligent boy such as Matthieu found friendship with such an _imbécile_.

"Ah, then it was not an insult!" he said. "After all, the Founding Fathers proudly sang about being Yankees!"

"Mm," said I, trying to have him get to the point, so he would cease talking to me.

"After that, the man insisted on helping me get home. He said that clearly I would come to some gruesome end, if he were not there to keep an eye on me. I said that it was not necessary, seeing as the place we were staying at was not far from the other side of the park. Hearing this, he said he would see me to the other side of the park then. As we walked, he asked of what brought me to London, and who the 'we' I spoke of was. I told him my story, and upon mentioning that one of my friends was a Frenchman by the name of Francis, he stiffened up. 'Francis Bonnefoy?' he asked. I told him that he was right. When he heard this, he looked as if he were having a fit. I asked him if he needed help, but all he would say was 'That damned _frog_!' I assumed, from that, that the two of you had met."

I frowned, trying to piece this all together. A blond, angry British man. A British man who knew me. One who called me "frog"...

"Yes!" I said, sitting up. "He is Arthur Kirkland!"

* * *

"I'm sorry," Antonio interrupted, "But who is Arthur Kirkland?"

"A pain in the ass," snorted Gilbert.

"Indeed," Francis agreed. "He also was of an old and well-to-do family, obscure enough to not find his way into the papers constantly, but prominent enough that he would find himself at the same parties as a well-off visitor such as myself." He smiled sardonically. "'Frog' was his nickname for me. You can see how he regarded me, and I hardly was overly fond of him."

Antonio frowned, noting his friend's use of the past tense. "If he _was_ all of those things, what is he now? What happened to him?"

"Permit me to continue the story, dear Antonio," said Francis. "All shall be revealed."

* * *

"His name is Arthur Kirkland?" asked Alfred, delighted. "Excellent! That will make tomorrow much less awkward!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Before I left him in the park, Mr. Kirkland offered to have me for tea, one of these days. He said that it was not that he was interested in seeing me again, but he doubted I would learn much of the true flavor of London staying with you, and he wanted to see that I was educated to any degree possible before I left."

"Arthur is as charming as always, I see," I said, laying back down to ease the throbbing in my head.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"And Alfred Jones accepted Mr. Kirkland's offer, I take it?" asked Antonio.

"_Oui_," replied Francis. "Just as he said, he spent the next day having tea with him. And he then spent the day after that with Arthur...and the day after that...and after that..."

Antonio noticed the dark look on Francis's face. "What sort of a person is - was this Arthur Kirkland? You said he was well-to-do and from an old family, but what was he _like_?"

"He had quite the temper," said Francis. "To this day, I do not know what it was that attracted him to Alfred so. Arthur Kirkland believed himself to be a true gentleman, and had no patience for uncouth fools who spent their days gallivanting from party to party and living off of alcohol."

"People like you?" asked Antonio, his mouth twitching.

"How could you tell?" Francis smiled faintly. "I suppose it was to be expected that he would have turned out like that, considering his family..."

"And why would that be?"

"His family, my dear Antonio, made the three of us together look like paragons of virtue."

Antonio burst out laughing at this. "Impossible!"

"It is so!" insisted Francis. "I am afraid that Arthur had the misfortune of being born into a generation of his family that was less than noble. His four brothers fought like cats and dogs, and his sister was a distant, vapid thing. His father died not long after Arthur was born. It was an illness, the papers said. It was from shame, the rumors said."

"He surely didn't die of shame of having quarrelsome children," said Antonio. "Even kings have such problems!"

"They do," said Francis. "That hardly makes it more tolerable. However it was not the fighting that the rumors referred to, but another problem that kings and common men alike may have." He paused to take a sip of wine before continuing. "Arthur, as I said, has blond hair."

"_Si_. What does that have to do with anything?"

"No one else in his family had such a hair color."

"...I see."

"And to make matters worse, there was a German nobleman in London some time prior. The Kirkland family entertained him at a party, and the Lady Kirkland seemed rather fond of him. There was the usual gossip, but it was not taken seriously. At least, not until Arthur was born. And so you see why Arthur had been so determined to be taken seriously as a gentleman. He moved to some town far away, until his mother had followed his father to the grave and his siblings had gone their separate ways. Even still, people talk. There is no _proof_ of course, but since when have gossips ever needed it?"

"Ah, poor Arthur!" cried Antonio.

"I would not feel sorry for him," said Gilbert. He had been strangely quiet all this time, glaring at the table. "Not after what he did. There was no excuse for that."

Francis frowned. "I am getting to that, Gilbert."

"Then get on with it!" snapped Gilbert. "I would like for us to be finished before midnight!"

* * *

As I said before, Alfred began to spend his days visiting Arthur. It began as only an hour or so in the afternoon, but he began to return later and later. Soon, he was spending nearly the entire day at Arthur's home.

I did not like this the slightest bit, but I knew I was hardly the most unbiased person when it came to judging Arthur Kirkland's character. I enjoyed far too much pleasure in watching him go red and sputter at whatever insults I casually dropped for him. Still, when we were at the end of our second week in London and none of our group had seen Alfred except in the early morning and night, it was becoming worrying. Matthieu in particular was becoming distressed, wondering what he might have done to drive Alfred away. He had been so enjoying taking Alfred to see the sights of London, and though he said nothing, I believe my poor little brother was feeling abandoned.

Alfred was not my friend and thus I did not wish to stick my nose into his affairs, however I could not stand to see poor Matthieu as saddened as he was.

"You must speak to Alfred, if this upsets you so," I told him finally, when his face fell yet again as Alfred bade him farewell and left to visit Arthur.

"I...I really ought not," said Matthieu. "It is none of my business, after all, what he does with his time."

I sighed. My little brother was dear to me, but it was infuriating how he was content to play the silent martyr! "There is nothing to be gained by saying nothing, Mattheiu," I replied. "Alfred is not a mind reader. It likely has not occurred to him that you miss his company, and thus telling him so would be the most logical course of action."

Matthieu took my advice to heart. That evening he remained in the living room, determined to speak to Alfred as soon as he returned.

I had been in reading in my room when I heard the door open and a cry of "Matthew! You are up late today!" announce the arrival of Alfred.

Now, I do not consider myself to be dishonorable or some sort of busybody (Gilbert, stop sniggering). I confess, however, that I was most curious as to how Matthieu would handle the situation. Thus, I crept to the door of my bedroom, so that I might better listen to the conversation.

"Hello Alfred," Matthieu said, his voice light and friendly. "Of course I am up late! I thought it would be a pleasant surprise for you to have someone greet you as when you came back."

"Very grateful for it, Matthew! The day was a bit tiring, and it _is_ a pleasant surprise."

"Oh? What happened today to leave you tired? I've never known you to be worn out, Alfred."

There was a pause, and I could picture Alfred screwing up his face, trying to think of what he did that could possibly be considered strenuous.

"I'm not sure," he finally confessed. "I seem to simply be tired lately."

"You look a bit unwell," Matthieu said. "Your pallor and those circles under your eyes! Are you sleeping well? Perhaps you ought not go out so often…"

"You could be right," said Alfred, sounding uncertain (quite rare, for a fellow such as himself).

"You could stay in for a day or so," Matthieu suggested. "You would likely feel better. And…it would give us a chance to enjoy our holiday. I-I must confess, I have seen far less of you for these past days than I would have liked."

"Matthew?"

"It-it is only...I do not want to appear meddlesome!" Matthieu blurted out, and I could see the troubled look on his face as he pressed onward. "I am worried, Alfred! You met Arthur only a week ago, yet you are spending nearly all of your time with him! Why would he have you with him so much, when there surely are things that he must attend to?"

"Is that what is troubling you?" replied Alfred. "Matthew, my friend, Arthur and I simply spend my visits drinking tea and talking! Nothing sinister at all, I assure you. I...I feel a bit sorry for him, really. He asks me all about my home and life in America, but says nothing about himself. I feel as if he _doesn't_ have things to attend to. For someone to be so lonely...but never mind that. Rest assured, there is nothing dangerous about that man, save for the charred scones he is in the habit of offering me."

"Still, I hope that you could spare a little time with the rest of us," said Matthieu. "It is not so often that I can show my best friend the sights of London."

There was a moment of silence. Then, "You are right," said Alfred. "I have been neglecting everyone here, haven't I? I will make it up, I promise! What plans do you, Francis, and Gilbert have for tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? We were to attend the performance of a new play by Oscar Wilde, being performed by the St. James Theatre."

"I shall go with you."

"But if you are feeling unwell -"

"One evening at the theatre will not kill me. Allow me to join you, and after, I will rest as much as you wish."

As promised, Alfred accompanied us to the St. James Theatre, and together we enjoyed their production of _The Importance of Being Earnest_. Have you seen that play, Antonio? You have not? You ought to, as soon as you have the chance! Oscar Wilde's wit is unparalleled, I assure you!

But yes, the play itself was magnificent. The evening was grand, until not long before intermission. Alfred, growing restless, had been glancing about the theatre. He gave a tiny cry of surprise, and tapped the shoulders of the people sitting on either side of him (myself and Matthieu).

"Look at that!" he whispered.

"Shhh!" the people sitting near us hissed.

"Can this wait until intermission?" Matthieu whispered back.

"Sorry," Alfred replied, looking embarrassed. "I only wished to say that Arthur of all people is at this performance, not two rows over!"

He was correct. Arthur Kirkland was indeed in the audience, sitting close enough that we could easily see him. How odd! We were hardly sitting in the best section of the theatre, and I would think that Arthur could easily have afforded the finest seat available.

As I pondered this, I saw a slight movement out of the corner of my eye. As inconspicuously as possible, I turned my head to see what it was.

Arthur was unmistakably staring at Alfred. His eyes gleamed so intensely with some unnamable emotion that I blanched.

My reaction did not go undetected. Arthur sniffed in distaste and turned his attention back to the stage, as if he had most certainly not been staring at one of our number in the most frightful way.

My three companions were in good spirits, as we exited to the lobby for intermission. There was nothing for them to worry about. _They_ did not see that look in Arthur's eyes.

You can call me a coward all you like, Gilbert. As I said, you did not see it. And if you had seen half of what I did, in the days that would come, you would think again before calling me such things.

Where was I? Oh, yes. The others were in high spirits. Gilbert was telling a number of jokes, all of which were terrible (no really, Gilbert, I assure you that they were). My own spirits were beginning to lift, when some uncouth person pushed past me, elbowing me in the ribs along the way. When I was no longer doubled over, massaging the sore area, I realized that the intruder was rather familiar.

"Alfred, old boy! How astonishing to see you here!"

Arthur clasped Alfred's hands and beamed, apparently failing to notice that he was not endearing himself to the rest of our company.

Alfred, however, was just as oblivious and merely cried out "Arthur! I was not expecting to see you here!"

"None of us were," I said, trying to ignore the pain in my side. "I believe this is the first time I've ever seen you at any theatre performance, Arthur Kirkland!"

Arthur ignored my comment, save for a glare that did not intimidate me in the slightest. The poor man seemed unaware that it was likely impossible for him to look fierce with those ridiculous eyebrows of his. Yes, those eyebrows truly were a thing to behold, Antonio. It is a shame you never had a chance to see them. Ah, the laughs we might have had!

True to form, Alfred missed this entire exchange. "Is Leon with you tonight?" he asked.

"Of course, of course," Arthur said, looking about. "I never go anywhere without him. Leon! Where did you go?"

A young Oriental boy who had been standing right behind Arthur cleared his throat. "I am here all this time, Mr. Kirkland," he said.

"Really?" Arthur seemed genuinely surprised to hear this. "Well don't be so bloody quiet!"

"So good to see you, Leon!" said Alfred, clapping the boy on the shoulder. "Have you been feeling better?"

The boy, impressively enough, remained composed and inscrutable, not disturbed in the slightest by Arthur's reprimand or Alfred's enthusiastic greeting. He gave a small nod. "I am to be doing better, Mr. Jones. Thank you."

"You still look ill," said Alfred, looking concerned. He frowned at Arthur. "You should not have brought him here if he is still unwell. Really, Arthur!"

Arthur bristled, but astonishingly did not begin to curse the American out, or order him to mind his own business. Instead, he forced a smile on his lips (such a strained thing it was!) and assured Alfred that Leon was feeling well enough to attend a night at the theatre.

At this point, Matthieu gave a small cough. My poor brother, being ignored by his friend once more!

To his credit, Alfred heard and immediately walked to Matthieu's side. "Ah yes, where are my manners?" he said. "My dear friends, these two are Arthur Kirkland and his valet, Leon Wang."

Leon gracefully bowed to each of us, as Alfred gave our names. "Over here is Gilbert Bis - erm, Gilbert? Gilbert? Eh, he appears to have wandered off. Ah well. This is Matthew Williams, my good friend from Canada."

"A pleasure," said Arthur, holding out a hand. The look on his face as Matthieu gently shook it indicated that it was very much a pleasure at all.

"And here is Matthew's older brother, Francis Bonnefoy," Alfred continued, apparently not noticing Arthur's disinterest in the introductions.

"I know this one," Arthur grumbled, leaning forward for a better look at me. Up close, I could see that his eyes were a bit read. "Stupid Frog, gallivanting about London as if he owned the place." He snorted, and I caught a whiff of brandy. That explained quite a lot. Monsieur Kirkland could be called many things, but a heavy drinker was not one of them. As I said before, he had little patience for spirits and the few times he I had seen him have even the smallest amount, it took every bit of his self control not to end up under the table by the evening's end.

"It is good to see you too!" I said, with a small laugh. "It is most surprising to see you here, Arthur. I did not know you were the sort to enjoy a night at the theatre."

Arthur blushed and looked furious. "Yes...well, it has been some time. I thought it would be a nice change of pace. After all -" he rounded on Alfred "- _some_ guest of mine canceled our engagement for the evening and I found myself with some time free."

"Sorry, sorry!" said Alfred. "I did tell you -"

"Yes, I know." He shot a look of pure venom at Matthieu, though the effect was mitigated by his swaying slightly (something he no doubt owed thanks to the brandy for). "Your choice of company, my boy, no idea why you would find _this_ superior -"

"I suppose these things are simply a matter of perspective," I said, having had enough. "For example, Arthur, your drunken ramblings are so entertaining that I am almost able to overlook those bird nests on your face that you call eyebrows. Almost."

"You be quiet!" Arthur snarled.

He moved forward as if to leap at me, however Alfred caught him by the arm. "Arthur, you must tell my friends some of the stories you have been sharing with me!" he insisted. We seemed to have reached a level of tension so high that not even our American friend could overlook it. "You could tell of your travels to China, and how you met Leon and his older brother!"

"Yes Arthur," I said. "Do tell us of your adventures. I would love to hear of them. Perhaps you could tell us of that trip to Scotland you took, with that darling brother of yours? I know how you loved spending time in his company. Or perhaps -"

I could not say if Arthur would have strangled me in such a respectable place or not, but most fortunately I did not have to find out. At that moment, Alfred let out a strangled sound and collapsed to the floor.

There were cries from all around as the ladies and gentlemen stepped back and began asking if he was quite well and if there was a doctor in the house.

Before a doctor could be summoned, however, Arthur knelt to the floor, by Alfred's side. Alfred's eyes were half-open by now, and he appeared to be disoriented.

"Don't say a word, lad. Don't say a word," Arthur said, in a soothing voice that I could not have believed the man capable of producing. "I have what you need." And, paying no heed to everyone staring, he pulled a flask from inside of his coat and began to pour the contents into Alfred's mouth.

Before he managed more than a half a mouthful or so, he found a hand clamped around his wrist.

"No," Matthieu whispered, pulling back Arthur's wrist, and the brandy flask with it. "That's not what he needs."

Monsieur Kirkland turned read and _snarled_ at my brother!

I was prepared to step in and throttle him for such gall, however I never had the chance. Before I could take one step, Matthieu tore Arthur from Alfred's side.

"Alfred needs rest," Matthieu insisted. "If he is ill, he can have medicine prescribed by an actual doctor. He does _not_ need whatever you wish to pour down his throat right now!"

Arthur looked livid. He stood there, breathing heavily and looking as if he wished for nothing more than to punch Matthieu. I was waiting for him to dare, my own hands curled into fists. However, he never struck. Instead, he turned on his heel and strode briskly for the door.

"Leon, come!" he called as he left, and the Oriental boy bowed respectfully to us before running after.

The silence that followed seemed to stretch for an eternity, but it was finally broken by the sound of groaning on the floor. Alfred had finally woken up, and was shakily rising to his feet.

"Oh, thank god!" cried Matthieu, helping his friend to stand.

"Matthieu!" I said. I could not believe it! My brother of all people, so sweet and quiet, had stepped in like that! "My dear boy, you were _manifique_!"

Matthieu was already looking troubled, staring in the direction Arthur left, while helping Alfred balance against him. "Oh dear," he said. "I hope he wasn't so very offended!"

"With Monsieur Kirkland, it's rather difficult to _not_ offend him," I assured my brother. "I am sure he will be over it by morning. In any case, it was he who was out of line. Do not blame yourself for his tactlessness."

Matthieu's brow remained furrowed, but he began to lead Alfred to the door.

"Gilbert!" I called, looking about the room for him. "Gilbert, it is time for us to be going! Gilbert?"

I finally found him trying to charm a dark-haired lady, who was hanging on the arm of a rather aristocratic gentleman. Just as I reached the three, the lady drew back her fist and punched him in the face.

"And let that be a lesson for you, you scoundrel!" her gentleman reprimanded, as I grabbed Gilbert by the arm and led him outside.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Leon is, of course, meant to be Hong Kong**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"Verdammit, be quiet!" snapped Gilbert, as Antonio burst out laughing.

"Forgive me," Antonio gasped, struggling to regain his composure. "How I wish I could have seen that!"

"The sight of Gilbert suffering for his foolishness is hardly rare," said Francis, his lips twitching.

"You liar," Gilbert muttered, busying himself with a mouthful of his drink.

"But how strange!" said Antonio, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. "I agree, Francis, your brother always did seem the quiet type."

"He also seemed high-strung," said Gilbert, who had scraped enough dignity together to rejoin the conversation. "I don't know why he was so bothered by the brandy cure. Works wonders, if you ask me. Why, through the awesome power of the amount of beer I drink, I have yet to get sick at all. I certainly have never fainted like some shy lady."

"Matthieu never did believe very much in the medicinal value of alcohol," Francis replied. "I fear I might have turned the child against it."

"What happened to Alfred?" asked Antonio, directing them back to the story. "Did he recover? And what of Arthur?"

"Ah yes," said Francis. "This is the part that is a bit vague, for you see neither Gilbert nor myself were present. We had stepped out for a breath of fresh air, leaving Alfred in the capable hands of dear Matthieu - the boy having volunteered, of course - and thus I can only tell you what I coaxed from him."

* * *

Alfred spent the whole of that day in bed. Matthieu said that he slept through most of the morning, awakening only for a light lunch and drifting back to sleep not long after. Matthieu himself spent the day writing letters to his schoolmates in Canada, checked that Alfred was not becoming feverish, and read anything he could find in the house.

He was doing that last activity when someone pounded incessantly on the door.

"Coming!" he called, hurrying to answer before Alfred was woken up. He swung open the door, and found himself being glared at by a rather short British man, with ridiculously-proportioned eyebrows.

"Where is he?" snapped Arthur, for of course that is who it was. "Where are you hiding him?"

"I'm so terribly sorry, but who am I hiding?" Matthieu asked. "I don't know what you are talking about!"

"Bollocks. He didn't visit me yesterday because of you, and now you're keeping him from visiting me today as well!"

Matthieu confided with me that the revelation of who Arthur was talking about hit him so suddenly that he was unable to do more than stare and murmur "Ohhhhhh". He had no clue why Arthur would think Alfred was being hidden away, after all. Alfred had collapsed in the theatre, for all to see. Matthieu thought that anyone with sense would know he would likely not be out the next day.

"Alfred is resting," said Matthieu, when he was able to speak. "If you come back tomorrow, I am sure he will be able to receive you."

Matthieu was not certain, but he later swore that Arthur's eyes flashed two different colors at that. "Listen here, boy," he snarled, balling his hands into fists and taking a step towards Matthieu. "You let me see him now! I don't know why you are so intent on keeping us apart, but you can stop it this instant!'

My brother stepped back, fearing that he would be stuck by the enraged man before him. Still, he did not give in. "I am not trying to keep you from Alfred, Mister Kirkland," he said. "Really, if you come back tomorrow, I will be sure to - NO!"

It seemed that Arthur was at the end of his rope, for he had seized Matthieu by the arms and began to shake him as hard as he could. Ah, my poor Matthieu! As I mentioned before, Arthur was not a large person. He certainly was not the strongest. But to be throttled so suddenly, no matter how hard, would understandably upset anyone. And my poor, quiet little brother was most certainly terrified.

"Do _not_ give me that, boy!" cried Arthur, as he shook Matthieu. "Do _not_! I know Alfred is here, I know you want nothing more than to keep him from me, now tell me where he is or _so help me God_, I will tear you to pieces with my own hands!"

Neither Matthieu or myself can think of what might have happened next, had Leon not chosen that moment to coming running up the front steps.

"Sir!" he said, and according to Matthieu, he was out of breath and leaning on the door frame for support. "Sir, what is this? I do not where to be looking, and find you here? What is this?"

"Quiet, Leon," hissed Arthur, still holding Matthieu by the arms. "Mind your own business."

Matthieu told me that he was impressed. Though Leon was still panting, and his hands were shaking as he pushed himself from the support of the door frame, his voice was quite steady. "Sir," the valet said, "We are should be going, yes?"

For a moment, Matthieu had no idea what Arthur planned on doing. Finally, he released my little brother. "You are right," said Arthur, strolling out of the house as if he had not just barged in and attacked the resident. "We ought to be leaving. Come!"

And that quickly, the two were gone.

Matthieu told me that he was fine, however I find that doubtful. Anyone would have been shocked after such an encounter, especially a quiet, sweet child like him. I suppose his exact feelings can only be speculation.

In any case, it was at the advice of Alfred, who woke up several hours after Arthur left, that Matthieu decided to step outside for a breath of fresh air. That Alfred made such a suggestion, to me, is proof that Matthieu was not as unaffected as he said he was. As I noted before, it took quite a lot to have Alfred notice something amiss. Regardless, Matthieu did decided to take a brief stroll outside, seeing as he had been inside all day.

It was dark by that time, but Matthieu did not mind. He assured me, when I scolded him for going out alone at such an hour, that he knew the area quite well and besides, the road was well-lit by the full moon in the sky.

My brother was bundled up in his coat, and had his walking stick in hand. What's that, Antonio? You never saw that walking stick before? Really? It was a birthday present from me to him. Matthieu had always been fascinated with walking sticks, you see, since I told him a story of one with a sword hidden in it. When I saw this walking stick for sale in an antique shop in Geuvadan, I knew it was something he would like.

And so he set out like this. There was not a soul on the streets, he later told me, and it was very peaceful.

When he turned the corner, he heard something growling.

I do not thing there is a soul in the world who would have blamed Matthieu for running in terror. As soon as he heard that horrible sound, he turned and went back the way he came just as quickly as he possibly could. The strange sound seemed to be dying away, and Matthieu found himself relaxing. He must have outrun whatever it was. Now that he was nearly back to our place, he was as good as safe and -

Something dark and large bounded out of the darkness, snarling and flashing its teeth! Taken by surprise, Matthieu threw himself backwards on reflex. He stumbled and fell to the ground, and the _thing_ was on top of him. In that moment, he saw enough of it to recognize the snout, the fur, the fangs, and how it ran on all fours. It was impossible, and yet it was happening - Matthieu was going to have his head bitten off by a wolf!

Determined to save himself, Matthieu took hold of the only weapon available to him. Swinging with all of his might, he smashed the silver handle of his cane against the wolf's neck. He expected to ward off the attack for a few seconds at most, with the hope of startling it enough for him to run. Instead, the animal gave a monstrous howl and, shaking its head in pain, leapt from him.

Matthieu was on his feet in an instant, trying to run for the house while keeping the wolf within view. It snarled and looked to be readying itself to pounce again, however Matthieu brandished the cane and it came no closer. Finally, it gave one final growl and ran off into the night, leaving Matthieu to collect his wits and hurry to the safety of the house.

Matthieu related this all to Gilbert and myself when we returned home that evening. He insisted that it was nothing, though the poor boy was shaking violently. Oh, my dear Matthieu! To go through all of that in one night! I could not believe Arthur would dare do something like that. And what of that large animal, attacking him like that? There were no animals so large and fierce in London!

Yes, Antonio, I did believe Matthieu's story of the monster that attacked. I knew my brother was a clever boy. He was not prone to fits of fantasy, and always had his wits about them. Gilbert may have dismissed it as an ordinary dog - no Gilbert, do _not_ look away. I tell this all as it did happen - however I knew that if Matthieu said it was something else, it had to be something else.

And so I calmed Matthieu, while Gilbert phoned for the police. In time, they would arrive for details of the animal that attacked my Matthieu. I, meanwhile, planned to deal with his other assailant myself.

* * *

I went to see Arthur the very next day. My poor Matthieu was at his wit's end, between that man's threats and that vicious animal attacking him! Against the creature, there was nothing I could do. It had been reported to the police, and all that was left was for them to track down and kill the thing. What I _could_ personally take care of was Arthur and his apparent determination to frighten my little brother. I would put a stop to that, with my fingers around his throat if necessary!

The Chinese boy - Leon - answered the door. The poor child looked frightfully ill, sweating and pale as death, but I had no time for that. I was determined to find Arthur immediately, and I told him as much.

"My master is not feeling well, and wishes to remain undisturbed," the boy said, though it seemed to take all of his strength to give this simple reply. "Please, come back at a later time."

"I will not," I said. "It is an urgent matter, and I will see to it. Please tell your master that if he listens well, I shall only be here for a moment or two."

"My master is not feeling well..." Leon murmured, before he collapsed backwards.

I managed to catch the boy before he hit the ground, and carried him to the sitting room to leave him to rest comfortably. I had just deposited him on a chair, when I heard something behind murmured from behind me.

I spun around, using every ounce of self control not to cry out. Upon laying eyes on the sofa behind me, however, I saw that the sound had come from Arthur.

What a sight the man was! Sunk back into the cushions and still as a corpse, it was no wonder I had overlooked him. He was flushed, but he breathed in a calm, even rhythm that comes with a deep sleep. His legs were splayed across the floor, and I had to take care not to trip on them as I approached him. It was odd. His exhaustion and the flush on his face suggested that he had been engaging in some sort of strenuous activity outdoors, however his clothes were neat and clean. Perhaps he had ruined a previous set of clothes and had to change?

And then I saw his neck, and all questions on his clothes vanished.

There was a burn. It was not a serious one. Indeed, it appeared to be half-healed already, as if he had sustained it some time ago (and yet, we saw nothing of this injury when we crossed paths at the theatre).

Arthur's head was tipped back against the back of the sofa, allowing me an excellent view of the burn. Though it was partially healed, I could still tell the way it originally looked. It appeared that whatever burned Arthur possessed a peculiar shape. A shape much like the handle of Matthieu's cane...

This realization had only just crept into my mind, when Arthur's eyes snapped open. "What are you doing here?" he snapped. "Villain! Knave! Get out of my house at once, Frog!"

I stumbled backwards. My thoughts were cluttered with images of canes and burns and of a sickly Chinese boy who, somewhere behind me, was unconscious. It meant something, but I had no idea what.

"Go on, leave!" the nobleman screamed, as I tried to put my head in order. He grabbed me by the wrist, no doubt intending to throw me from the house himself. "I am very tired, and I believe I ordered Leon to send all visitors away. _Go_!"

It was the mention of poor Leon that spurred me to act. I am not sure why it was that of all things, but it did. "I will do no such thing," I snapped, as I wrenched my hand from his grasp. "I demand to know why you threatened my brother! Matthieu was shaken and I will not stand for it!"

"My meeting with him is none of your concern," growled Arthur. "I will not stand for you coming in here, thinking you can interfere in my life and my affairs! Kindly keep out of my business, Frog, and tell the same to your idiot of a brother!"

And that, my friends, is when I punched him.

He fell backwards onto the sofa. I believe he was stunned that I had dared to strike him. As I think back now, it was just as surprising an act to me. I like to think that I am not a man inclined towards violent acts. At that moment though, there was only my fury. He had insulted my Matthieu, and no other response had been possible.

But of course the shock wore off quickly enough, and Arthur was once more on his feet. And, upon seeing the man's face, it was my turn to go wide-eyed and unable to respond. In all the times that we had known each other, Arthur had never been more than an angry little man, cursing and frothing like a lunatic but quite harmless.

Now though...now his mouth was pulled back into the most insane grin I had ever seen. I was unable to move as he strode towards me, unable to run as he drew closer to me than I had ever been or desired to be. I could see dark shadows under his mad eyes. His lips were pulled back from his teeth, and the irrational part of my mind wondered if he meant to eat me.

"Arthur..." I whispered. "_Monsieur Kirkland_..."

Ignoring my words, he seized the lapels of my jacket and forced me down to eye level with him. "Idiot Frog," he hissed. "Keep away from my home. Keep away from my business. And you and your uncouth German friend and your dull-witted brother can _keep away from Alfred_."

He released me, and I stumbled back.

"Do not meddle in my affairs," Arthur said. "Do not get in my way. There is no way you can beat me."

In vain did I try to think of something - _anything_ - to say. But my friends, I will shamefully admit that for once in my life, I was at a loss for words.

"Go," said the Englishman, pointing at the door.

I went.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"_Oh, Dios mio_!" gasped Antonio. "What did you do after that? Did you go to the police?"

"He wanted to," said Gilbert, downing there rest of his wine, and going to get another glass. He had been draining his glasses more and more quickly, as Francis continued on through the story.

"Why didn't you?" Antonio asked. "I mean, if he threatened you like that…"

"Because what evidence would Francis have had?" Gilbert snapped, filling his cup. "It was his word that some weird nobleman yelled at him and threatened him. Francis already was in the house after Leon told him to go, Francis was enough of an idiot to _hit_ Arthur and weaken his case, and that fucking Englishman was respected enough in the neighborhood, while Francis had a reputation for being a scandalous, French drunk! I told him all of this when he came back to our place and told me the whole thing!"

"And I did not disagree, Gilbert," said Francis.

"So what _did_ you do?" Antonio asked, eyes wide.

"It was my idea," Gilbert said. "It was a damned good plan, if I must say so."

"You would say so," sighed Francis, rubbing his forehead. "Still, it did work." He looked at Antonio. "At Gilbert's suggestion, he and I left in the late afternoon to sneak into Arthur's home."

Antonio gasped. "No!"

"Yes."

"But what if he caught you?"

"If he caught us, we thought we would go to jail. Looking back, being caught would almost certainly have led to a worse fate. It was…not a wise plan, I realize now, however at the time, it truly did seem the best option. We were going to look for some evidence that he posed a threat to Matthieu. Matthieu and Alfred were safely in our quarters for the evening, and looked as if Arthur and Leon both were tired enough that we could sneak in without their noticing." Francis cringed. "Poor Leon. If only we knew! If only we knew!"

"What happened to him?" Antonio gripped the table's edge and leaned towards Francis. "Go on!"

* * *

It was nearing the end of the afternoon when Gilbert and myself made it back to Arthur's house. All the better, we had thought, for it would surely be easier to sneak back out of the house under the cover of darkness, should we stay that late. As for sneaking in, nothing was easier. The door was still open the smallest amount. Presumably Arthur had failed to notice that it wasn't fully closed when he chased me out earlier. In any case, it meant that no one paid us any heed as we went in. The easiest way to break into a home, I learned that day, is to simply walk in the front door as if you have every right to be there.

We crept towards the sitting room, listening and looking carefully for any hints as to where Arthur and Leon were. They had both vacated the sitting room, so we began our search there.

After searching for some time though, it appeared that we had run short on luck. There was not even any evidence of Arthur having so much as a secret lover. Still, it was not too late to despair. We had yet to search the bedchambers upstairs (we were reluctant to go up there and risk being cut off from the doorway, you see, and thus were saving those rooms until we knew where Arthur and Leon were). We had begun to search the dining room, when we heard voices coming from a nearby room.

Gilbert acted first, pulling me back into the sitting room and behind an armchair. It was not the most comfortable or secure of hiding spots, but with any luck, we would be overlooked so long as we kept quiet.

A moment later, Arthur came from the dining room. He passed right through without noticing us, and headed upstairs. I wanted to continue our search of the dining room after he was gone, however Gilbert kept me where I was. It was fortunate he did so - yes Gilbert, fortunate. I do praise you every so often - because Arthur walked back through the sitting room almost immediately.

This time, however, he was carrying Leon in his arms.

The boy appeared to be unconscious, or too weak to move, at the very least. Arthur made no attempts to awaken him, and indeed showed no signs of concern over the wellbeing of his valet. He simply carried him through to the dining room.

We remained in hiding for several seconds and then, at Gilbert's silent urging, we set off to follow Arthur. We were aware of the danger. Well, I _assumed_ you knew of the danger, Gilbert. You should have. Regardless, I at least was aware of it, but we pressed forward.

Arthur had passed through the dining room and on to the kitchens. Upon carefully looking inside, we saw him vanish through a door at the other side of the room. Following after, we saw him take Leon down a flight of stairs to what was presumably the cellar.

We were able to open the door wide enough to see what was happening, though we had to be certain that we made no noise.

What an astonishing sight greeted us! Down in the cellar, Arthur had set up some sort of a laboratory! There were tables covered in glass vials and scales and bottles of liquids and powders and who knew what. He was at one of those tables, hard at work mixing various ingredients together for some no-doubt important task.

Leon had been seated in a plain wooden chair. He was awake now, but appeared just as sickly as he had been when I had last spoken with him.

"You should be stopping this," he pleaded, as Arthur continued with whatever he was mixing. "It is not working, and I think I will be dying soon!"

"You said that the last time and the time before, and you have yet to die," Arthur replied. "Be at ease, Leon. I know what I am doing. It will work."

"But I do not want it to!" Exhausted as he was, Leon struggled to sit up. I was sure that if he had the strength, he would have fled that room while Arthur was busied with his strange potions. "Please, Arthur! Think of what you are doing!"

"You think I have not? I'm not like the rest of my dear family, you know. I actually do think my actions out."

He seemed to nearly be finished with what he was making. As he began to set jars and bottles aside, Leon began to gasp and pant. The poor boy seemed to be panicking terribly, trying to find the strength to escape whatever was about to happen.

And still, Gilbert and I stayed where we were, watching in horrified fascination. If we had known what would have happened - yes, I know we could not have guessed, that is why I said "if we had" - we might have rushed to Leon's aid. But please, do not think badly of us. How could we have guessed? For all one learns of plots and literary conventions in books, real life is something else entirely. If by some miracle we find ourselves involved with something as strange as fiction, it is unreasonable to expect us to know it immediately.

I apologize, I lost track of the story. I shall continue.

As Arthur drew nearer to his valet, a cup of some substance or another in his hand, Leon found enough strength to throw himself sideways off of the chair. He lay upon the ground, writhing and gasping, unable to manage any more of an escape.

Arthur said nothing. He simply knelt next to the terrified boy and wrapped his free arm around Leon's shoulders. Propping him up in this way, Arthur put the cup to the boy's lips and forced him to drink.

The cellar was completely silent, save for the small sobs and gulps as the boy drank. And then, as Arthur took the cup from Leon's lips, the boy gave a cry and seized up!

Arthur did nothing in response to this, save for lying his valet on the ground and going to replace the cup on his worktable. As he went about his business, Leon continued in his fits. I was frozen from the shock of what I was seeing at this point, as was Gilbert (don't deny it, Gilbert, there is no shame in it). For a moment, a part of my mind was crying that I would watch that poor boy fall dead right then and there!

And then Leon screamed.

It is the most accurate description of the sound he made, but to put it in such terms does not convey the strangeness and wrongness of the sound made. The noise that burst from his throat was not normal. Not…_human_. It sounded as if some fierce animal, ancient and furious, was cursing its killing in its death throes.

Only upon hearing that…that _sound_ did Arthur finally pay Leon any notice. He still treated this like a simple curiosity, showing no signs of alleviating the suffering of the person on his floor.

As Leon screamed, he thrashed on the ground. His arms flailed and his legs kicked, hitting the chair and adding to the din. God alone knew how, he finally managed to right himself, screaming the entire time. He still did not stand however, but remained hunched on the floor, confined to his hands and knees like an animal.

He was shaking violently, his screams growing lower and wilder. Under those terrible sounds, there was the peculiar sound of something cracking. And then... _and then_ - I... _mon dies_, Antonio! Leon he - his hair began to grow! And not just from his head, but _all over his body_!

His head was ducked down so I could not see his face, however there was still that horrible cracking and he must have been getting _larger_ for I could hear his clothes ripping, all while he continued to scream and yowl!

And then, there was only the sound of him growling.

Leon was no longer screaming. He was no longer writhing on the ground in agony. He was no longer pleading or trying to flee the cellar.

Leon Wang was no more.

In his place, there was some sort of animal. It was hairy all over, and on all fours like a dog. It was larger than any dog I'd ever seen though, and there was something horrifically _wrong_ with it. There was nothing human about it. It was a monster, facing a monster of an entirely different sort. The monster still on two legs, who made an innocent person into that _thing_.

Without saying a word, Arthur took a pistol from where it had been hidden amongst his tools and substances. He aimed at the creature that had once been Leon, and he fired.

It seemed some intelligence remained in the animal however, for it was already charging up the stairs and for freedom. I only just had realized it would be heading right at us, when Gilbert grabbed me by the arm and dragged me under the kitchen table. Yes Gilbert, you did have another good idea. I thank you for it. We remained under there, perfectly still and silent as the grave, waiting for our chance to leave that dreadful place.

Not even seconds after, the animal burst past the cellar door. It turned sharply and threw itself straight through the kitchen window, where it went charging into the streets of London. Almost immediately after, Arthur gave chase. He was still carrying that pistol.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Once again, my dear Antonio, we are at a part of the story that I did not witness, and once again it was from Matthieu that I learned of these events. You see, while Gilbert and I were carefully escaping the madhouse of Arthur Kirkland, Matthieu and Alfred were returning from a walk. According to Matthieu, Alfred was feeling well enough to be quite bored by his bedroom walls, and seeing as it was daylight and less likely when an animal might attack, the two decided to go on a brief stroll.

The fresh air did them good, driving out thoughts of the stressful events of the past few days, and they had not a care in the world as they were heading back from their walk. Imagine, then, their surprise to arrive back and find Leon huddled by their doorstep, half-conscious and terrified!

Filthy. That was how Matthieu described him. He was covered in dirt and small cuts, which most fortunately were not bleeding anymore. His trousers had been shredded. His shirt was missing entirely. Matthieu told me that he might have thought that Leon had been attacked, however the revealed thinness of his chest and arms proved that something - an illness, Matthieu wondered - had been happening for some time.

It was Alfred who ran to Leon first, with Matthieu right behind. The two were in a state, checking the boy for injuries and draping an overcoat over his bony shoulders and asking if he was hurt and what happened and did Arthur know where he was?

Leon was shaking and sounded as if he was wheezing. Matthieu said that it took a moment for them to realize that he was whispering the same word, again and again: "No...no...no...no..."

"We shall take him inside," Matthieu told Alfred. "He can rest, while the doctor is called."

Alfred nodded and took Leon in his arms without a word. According to Matthieu, Leon was so weak and thin that he lay in Alfred's arms as if he were a child. He did not make any attempt to speak again, until they brought him inside.

"I did lose him," Leon gasped out, as the two helped him to the sofa. "I ran. Arthur ran. I am not knowing where he went."

"Someone was chasing you and Arthur?" asked Alfred. "Who? Will he try to find you again?"

"Alfred, go and ring for the police," said Matthieu. He could see that Leon needed help quickly, and was in no form to be answering questions.

Alfred still looked concerned, however he left to place the call.

With his friend out of the room, Matthieu set about trying to calm Leon as best he could. From what he said, Leon appeared exhausted. If he weren't moving and breathing, Matthieu told me that he might have thought the boy was dead. He could tell the boy had had a shock of some kind (dear Matthieu would not learn how much of a shock it was, not until much later).

As Matthieu tried to think of what to do for Leon, he heard the boy clear his throat. Sensing he wished to say something, Matthieu drew closer to the sofa.

"Why?" was what the boy choked out.

"Why did we bring you in? You are hurt!"

Leon shook his head weakly. "Why are you and your brother not having the same last names?" he asked

"Eh?" asked Mattieu. Leon's voice was so soft he could hardly hear him, and the strangeness of the question made him wonder if he misheard. "Oh, we actually do have the same last names. My real name is Matthieu Bonnefoy, but I introduced myself as Matthew Williams when I moved to Canada. Are you feeling well? You feel very warm..."

"You should not give up your family's name," Leon said. "I was to be giving up one of my names when I moved her. Wang Kha-Loung, that was what my brother knew me as."

"It was a bit easier for people in Canada to pronounce my new name," Matthieu explained. "That was the only reason I changed it."

"And I was to becoming Leon for the same reason. Mister Kirkland - Arthur - he was telling me no one could say my real name."

The boy closed his eyes. His breaths began to come in short, shallow bursts. Matthieu cried out and tried to calm him, but it was no good.

"I did not know," Leon gasped out. He was now shaking and twitching, and nothing could be done to stop it. "When I - when I had to figured out what he was doing, it was too late. I was not strong enough to run. If I would have to known, I would have never left home. My brother, my Yao, he will never know what will have become of me."

"He will know!" Matthieu cried. "Leon, you can tell him yourself! The doctor will be here soon, Alfred is calling him right now! You just have to hold on for a little longer!"

Leon - Kha-Loung - gave a small smile as Alfred came into the room.

"The doctor is on his way," Alfred said. "Leon, are you feeling better? Shall I call Arthur next?"

The boy stiffened upon hearing his former employer's name. "Arthur...no!" he gasped. "He's...he... _I'll kill him_!"

Here, Matthieu broke off sobbing and was unable to say precisely what occurred. From the pieces he managed to give me, I was able to glean that in rage and insanity, Kha-Loung fell to the floor and transformed again into a wolf.

Once again, Matthieu found himself with a huge, snarling monster before him. Matthieu would not tell me much of what happened at this point, and I can not blame him for not wanting to think of it. He did tell me that any trace of Kha-Loung's mind seemed to have vanished, and the animal appeared to be quite keen to tear Matthieu to pieces.

Matthieu, it would seem, was twice fortunate. Once again, he found himself swinging whatever was closest to save his life.

And once again, the closest object was his silver-handled cane.

You know the stories, don't you Antonio? Werewolves are of the moon, and silver is the moon's metal. They cannot stand it. Striking the first werewolf with a silver cane handle burned it and drove it off. Striking the second was just as effective.

Here, however, Matthieu's luck seemed to have run out. Either this werewolf was more determined to devour him, or else being confined in the house made the animal less inclined to retreat. Regardless, while the burn of the silver made it reel in pain, it began to recover quickly and move to strike Matthieu once more.

The snarls and shrieks attracted the attention of Alfred, who came running to the rescue. Matthieu could not say exactly when he arrived, however he had his own weapons at hand: our fine silverware, which he presumably grabbed a handful of upon hearing his friend's cries for help.

I have told you that Alfred is clueless and obtuse, however it can not be said that he is a coward. He saw the animal pinning Matthieu to the floor, fangs nearing to throat, and threw several forks at it.

Alfred was by no means a circus performer. He lacked the strength and precision to have the forks completely embed themselves in the werewolf's flesh.

Still, they struck it with enough strength to leave the smallest of scratches. Had the monster been a normal animal, it would not have noticed. The forks held all the same power as the cane handle, however, and the werewolf fell back, whimpering.

Taking advantage of its retreat, Matthieu struck the werewolf with his cane once more. It turned to him, teeth flashing as it growled, and that was when Alfred saw his chance. He plunged one of the silver knives into the monster's stomach.

Matthieu said that the sound the thing made as it perished was like nothing from this world. He said he heard such growls and roars as could turn the bravest man's hair white, all while intertwined with cries of agony from a far too human voice.

When telling me all of this, Matthieu went silent at this point. He refused to tell me precisely what happened. I believe, for reasons that you shall learn, that Matthieu and Alfred saw the mutilated werewolf's body turn into the mutilated form of Wang Kha-Loung. If that is so, I do not blame him for refusing to tell of it. Details such as that are best left buried.

When Matthieu was able to continue telling me his part of the story, he said that he ran from the house to find a police officer. He could not tell me why he set off on foot, instead of phoning for one. Perhaps he simply could not think of it, in his panic.

Somewhere behind him, he told me, he could hear Alfred following. The two found themselves running down different streets, however, after several minutes. At the time, Matthieu believed his friend to be searching for a police officer in another part of town. He later admitted to me that he did not know exactly where Alfred intended to go. It mattered not, however. Matthieu's own search for a policeman ended in a very different place than he intended to be.

* * *

"At this point," Francis admitted, "I can give few details. I know vaguely of what happened, but I was not...present for it. As such, I hope you are not disappointed that I must skip forward to -"

"I can tell what happened here," interrupted Gilbert. "_I_ was there at that time."

Francis raised his eyebrows. "My friend, are you quite sure you wish to -"

"Yes, yes, just be quiet and let me tell this!"

* * *

Francis and I, we ran from Kirkland's house like the demons of hell were on our heels. After what we saw in that basement, they could have been! We didn't think much of what to do, until we were safely a few streets over and certain that the werewolf - that Leon kid - and Kirkland were not about to find us soon.

We were both terrified! Well, Francis moreso than myself - oh ho, now who's protesting, Francis? Not so fun when you're the one listening, huh? - but the fact was, neither of us were sure what to do.

Francis was throwing out "_mon diu_" and "_merde_" and all those other things he shouts when he's upset. I'm not bothering with those, so you know. Don't look at me like that Francis, it's insane enough remembering what actually happened. Anyway, the first thing he said was that we needed to tell someone about this.

"Fantastic idea!" I said. "Let's go to the police and tell them how an eccentric nobleman turned his servant into a wolf with a potion! I'm sure the company at Bedlam House is wonderful. _I _certainly look forward to it!"

"Then what do you suggest?" Francis snapped. "Leave the people of London unaware of the monster and the madman running through town?"

I…had no answer to that. Yes, I admit it. Francis, stop smirking. There were two possible things we could think of doing. The first, which I proposed, was to take advantage of the knowledge that the Kirkland house was empty and search it for evidence of Arthur's mad scientist habits. The second, which Francis proposed, was to find and trail Arthur and Leon, thus allowing us to be sure that no one was hurt by them. Francis quickly talked me down and insisted on using his plan. He argued that Arthur and Leon were the more immediate dangers, and thus should be tracked as soon as possible. I still maintain that my idea was best.

Don't think I didn't see you roll your eyes at that, Francis.

It was decided that I would look for Leon, because Francis was too frightened to look for the missing werewolf. Erm, I mean because he knew Arthur best and thus felt better qualified to find him. And of course, _I_ wasn't afraid of the werewolf, not at all! It only would have ripped my legs off and bitten out my throat had it caught me. There was no reason at all for me to be concerned!

But I digress.

We parted ways and began our search through London. I remember wondering how a large, ferocious animal was so adept at moving undetected through a city. Stupid me, I would soon regret wanting an answer to that question. You see, after I'd been searching for some time, Alfred and I crossed paths.

He looked shaken, maybe just as much as Francis and I were. He ran to me, shouting if I had seen any police officers nearby. I tried my best to calm him, but nothing I said made any difference. Finally, I slapped him across the face. Don't look at me like that, Antonio. It _worked_. He was calm enough, at least, to explain to me what happened.

If I had not seen what happened in Arthur's basement, I would never have believed it. As it was, it still took me a moment to grasp what happened. Leon was dead. Dead, and on our floor. Matthew was off somewhere in London. And Alfred…well, Alfred was babbling.

"And he kept talking about Arthur, Gilbert!" he was shouting. "I do not know why, but he was. He said he was going to _kill_ Arthur, and then he turned into that…that…that whatever-it-was! God alive! Gilbert, do you think Arthur is in some sort of trouble?"

"He is involved with something, yes," I said. "Alfred, you must stay away from Arthur! He's dangerous!"

"Arthur? Dangerous?" Alfred gaped at me. "Preposterous! You have gone mad, Gilbert!"

"Perhaps I have, but that doesn't matter! He did something to Leon, and now -"

"Enough of this idiocy!" snapped Alfred. "I think Arthur is in trouble -"

"Alfred, no!"

" - and I will find him -"

"Listen to me!"

" - I must save him!"

"_Verdammt_, you fool _come back here_!"

But Alfred was already running off, to wherever he seemed to think Arthur might be.

I began to chase after him, but he soon had outrun me. Matthew's friend may not have been terribly bright, but he was amazingly strong. I knew there wasn't a chance of catching up to him now, unless I aimlessly wandered the city. I'd been _doing_ that, and -

- And the person I had been looking for was dead. In the place we had been renting.

Francis was on Arthur's trail. He could handle Alfred, if the stupid American even managed to find Kirkland. My job had been to look after Leon.

I had been fifteen minutes away from our place, but I managed to run back there in half that time.

I opened the front door and nearly collapsed. The stench that filled the room, it - _mein gott_ Antonio! You surely have seen dead animals before, right? Something small and furry that was caught by a cat and got mangled beyond recognition and left on the side of the road for lord knows how long? Then you must know the smell from that the wizened flesh and drying blood produces. Now, if you can, imagine what that smell must be like if it were to come from a human.

Yes.

I...I was sickened by that smell. The smell and...and the _sight_! Leon's corpse was - the blood was - it was all pooled and beginning to darken. I took one look at it and froze. When I was able to force myself to move again, I quietly shut the front door. Then, I emptied my stomach, right there in the sitting room.

That brought little relief, but there was nothing to be done about it. I collected a bucket of water and old rags and cleaned up the blood and the sick as best I could. I could not get everything right, but it was good enough. It only had to go unnoticed until we had all left town. Antonio, don't judge me for this. I beg this not as a scandalous fool but as your friend. If there was any way the truth might have come to light, I would have brought a policeman to the house that very instant. But I already told Francis, _who would believe this_?

Oh, stop looking so upset, Antonio. I was not interested in being arrested for something I didn't do, but I was not going to leave Leon's body abandoned somewhere. I wrapped it in one of the spare bed sheets. It was most fortunate that his blood had begun to dry up. The sheets were stained, but nothing soaked through entirely. I then carried the boy to a bridge that I knew wasn't so frequently traveled on. When I was sure no one was in the vicinity, I unwrapped the body and laid it there. The sheets I threw into the river below, along with the rags used to clean the floor.

I then fled the bridge and hid in a nearby side street. From that location, I could easily see the bridge. It was only a matter of time before a young couple decided to take a stroll over it. I swear, the lady's screams drew half of London! The gentleman's cries for someone to bring the constable drew the other half. Everyone in the nearby vicinity came running. In the confusion, I slipped unnoticed into the crowd. That way, I was able to keep a close eye on what was going on without appearing suspicious.

Somewhere in the cries and sobbing and wonder of the crowd that formed, a police officer was found and brought forward. He examined the bled-out, twisted remains of Leon, and brilliantly came to the conclusion that the boy was dead.

And as this revelation was made, someone in the crowd shouted "Isn't that the Wang boy?"

That cry served as a spark for the rest. One by one, the people gathered around began to recognize the boy.

"Yes! Yes it is!"

"Why, I saw him just last week! The poor boy looked so ill!"

"Garn! Who'dya think did that 'ta 'im?"

The policeman waved his arms and shouted for order, until everyone had finally shut up. When he was able to get a word in edgewise, he asked for one person and one person only to explain who "the Wang boy" was, and who to contact about the death. After several false starts and a bit more bickering, the crowd finally chose an unofficial spokesperson to explain what was known of Leon Wang, particularly how he had been in the employment of Arthur Kirkland.

Several other policemen had arrived at this point, and word was going around that the coroner was on the way. The officers were trying to break up the crowd and chase away those trying to sneak closer and prod Leon's body. The townsfolk of London resisted attempts to send them away, and stood gossiping and staring and asking one another if Arthur Kirkland had been sent for yet.

I drew away from the crowd, and began to walk away at a steady pace. When I was certain that no one was watching me, I ran as fast as I could for Kirkland's house. I'm not sure why I chose to go there of all places. I think something was telling me that Arthur would be home by that point, and Francis would still be on his tail. I had to find my friend as quickly as possible, so that we could locate Matthew and Alfred and clear out. I could sense that this day's insanity was not over yet, and we had to get as far away as possible while we had the chance.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"I have to go now!" Gilbert said, abruptly standing up.

"What, so suddenly?" Antonio scratched his head. "I did not know you had a pressing appointment so late at night, my friend."

"I just…I have to go home." Gilbert did not so much as look at the other two men as he finished his drink and collected his coat. "Thank you for the evening, Francis."

"Of course, _mon ami_," said Francis. He did not look the least bit surprised at Gilbert's sudden desire to leave. "Perhaps we can meet again soon?"

"Mm," said Gilbert.

And with that, he was gone.

Antonio turned to his remaining friend, his eyes silently voicing the obvious question.

"It is to be expected," Francis sighed. "Gilbert always runs out by this point at the very latest, the few times I tell the story around him. Really, it is surprising that he stayed for as long as he did."

"But why now? Why does it bother him?"

"You see, for our part of the story's end, Gilbert was not present. Oh, he heard what happened. I told him everything. But he doesn't like hearing it again. I suspect he thinks that if he avoids it, it will make the ending untrue."

Antonio's eyes widened. "What happened to make Gilbert so afraid?"

"Well," said Francis, "I told you that I was not present for the last part of the story. I shall now tell you why. I was hurrying to find Arthur, when something struck me on the back of my head. I did not even have a chance to cry out before the world went black! When I woke up, I was in a dark closet, bound hand and foot."

* * *

It took my eyes some time to adjust to the darkness. When they did, I realized that I was trapped in what seemed to be a pantry. As I managed to crawl around the area to find some way to untie myself, it came to my attention that I was not the only person stuffed in that tiny space. There was another body lying near me, unmoving but - and I drew near to make certain of this - still breathing.

I had a terrible feeling that I knew who the other person was, however I had to be sure. I redoubled my searching until I found a sharp, metal edge on something or another and was able to cut the ropes binding my wrists. To loosen the bonds around my ankles was the work of a moment, and I hurried to determine the identity of my fellow captive. It was too dark to see their face, however by running my hands over their features, I knew who it was at once.

Matthieu.

So Arthur had caught him as well. Perhaps the two had unluckily cross paths on the streets of London, or Arthur had sought my brother out for revenge over his perceived slight. No matter what the case, we were both very much in trouble.

I shook Matthieu gently, whispering his name, however he remained unconscious. He must have been struck over the head harder than I had been. This would make things considerably more difficult. I might have been able to break open the door and escape without drawing Arthur's attention (I still did not know where he was, you see), however it would be nearly impossible to do so while carrying Matthieu's unconscious body.

As I pondered how to wake Matthieu, I heard voices. I crouched near the door, so that I could better hear what was being said.

" - And you must do something to protect yourself," the first speaker said, clearly distraught. "I do not know what happened to Leon, but a similar fate may befall you, if you are not careful!"

It was Alfred. So he had seen Leon? He somehow connected it all back to Arthur? I would not learn the entire story until Gilbert related it to me later, however it did not matter. At the moment, all I concerned myself with was trying to hear if the two speakers were going to leave the vicinity.

I silently cursed the heavens as I strained to hear more. Of course Alfred would run to such a dangerous place! Now I had to help Matthieu escape and see to it that Alfred got free without any misfortunes befalling him.

"Worry not, love," said the second voice, who I recognized as Arthur. Of course, who else would be here? "Nothing will harm me."

"You do not understand!" Alfred insisted. "Leon, he…he turned into something dangerous and he wanted to kill you! He's dead now, but -"

"Leon's dead?" Arthur interrupted. "Then everything is as it should be."

"What? That is not what I meant! Arthur, I - lord!" Alfred was becoming even more distressed. I could not blame him. If I had not known of what Arthur had done, I too would have been disturbed by his lack of concern for the fate of his valet.

Throughout all of Alfred's protests though, Arthur said not a word. I heard the sound of him walking across the floor, and then Alfred was cut off mid-sentence. One of them made a sound like "Mmm," followed by both of them breathing somewhat more heavily. Ah. I could guess what happened. I should have known things were running deeper than being simply acquaintances.

"Love, you worry too much." The voice was so impossibly gentle, I almost could not believe it was Arthur who was speaking. "I assure you, I can take care of myself. Did I ever tell you of the special inheritance I received from my family?"

"You mean the house, or -"

"No, no, something a little different. You see, there was a time when my family was once _respectable_." His voice was now flavored with a bitterness that was much more familiar. "There were geniuses among us, oh yes. And many of those of the Kirkland lineage were skilled at the brewing of medicines."

"You - Arthur, you did not see what happened to Leon. I do not think there is any medicine that could fix that."

"Oh Alfred, I know of many medicines that no one else has heard of. The rest of my wretched family was too self-absorbed and stupid to bother with the years of research and notes stuffed in our library, but I did. I was even able to make a few new concoctions of my own. I remember with great fondness my first success. I slipped it in my mother's afternoon tea."

There was a clattering sound. Presumably Alfred had knocked over a chair in his shock. "Your mother? Arthur, your mother died of -"

"Of an illness, yes. That's not entirely untrue. She did become violently ill after drinking it. Of course, it was never detected. That was one of the reasons it was such a success."

"For the love of God, why?"

"Because she was a shameless whore who cared nothing for any of us!" screeched Arthur, bringing his fist down on the kitchen table. "She drove Father to an early grave, and turned a blind eye to the lurid things my siblings to up to! She laughed when I was a child, and everyone pointed and wondered where in the world my blond hair came from. She - Oh God!"

All was silent, save for Arthur's sobs. I had never known the man to cry. Somehow, it made me more frightened of him than ever.

"Why are you telling me this?" Alfred finally asked.

"Because," said Arthur, "I want you to know everything about me. Everything. I won't ever lie to you, Alfred. I am not my family. That is why I will tell you about how I traveled to Scotland with a brother of mine -"

"Hush," whispered Alfred, his voice quivering with what I knew to be fear.

" - And we were out in the wilderness, searching for a rare ingredient for a potion," Arthur continued, as if Alfred had not spoken. "Night had fallen, but my brother did not leave me. The poor man. My siblings were a wretched lot, but he at least seemed capable of goodness."

"Will you see him again?" asked Alfred. "You told me your siblings moved away. You could write to him and -"

"Quite impossible," said Arthur, cheerfully. "Could never be done, my dearest Alfred. It was a full moon that night, you see. I don't know where it came from, but it was out of the darkness like a shot. The encounter was muddled and mercifully quick, but when it was over, my brother's throat had been ripped out and I had nearly had my leg torn off."

On the full moon…that was when Matthieu had been attacked, after fighting with Arthur. _Mon dieu_! My poor Matthieu had been so fortunate!

And I felt quite ill as I realized that now, we were not. I do not know how fond you are of stargazing, Antonio. Know now that the full moon does not vanish after one night. It is actually three nights before it diminishes in size.

Last night - the night Matthieu had been attacked - had been the first night of full moon.

I had no idea how close to moonrise it was right now, but it could not be long. It had been nearly nightfall when I had set out to find Arthur.

Had Arthur thought of this? If he cared for Alfred, would he risk harming him? Or had he simply forgotten?

" - The doctors were amazed," said Arthur, and I realized that he had continued with his story while I had been panicking. "My leg healed so quickly! Within a few days, it was as if it had never had been injured at all. No limp, no scar, nothing. There was, however, one lingering effect. Do you know what I speak of, Alfred?"

"I do," said Alfred, and his voice was astonishingly calm now. "I have enjoyed horror novels in my past. I do not pretend to imagine it was easy to suffer the death of your brother. But Arthur, my dear Arthur, please understand that it is reality! To say a werewolf attacked you and your brother might seem a good story, but you must know that it is fiction!"

Arthur laughed, and chills ran down my spine. "Fiction? My dear Alfred, you think I am playing pretend? Do you suppose _Leon_ was only pretending to transform into a werewolf?"

"I do not know what illness Leon suffered from, but - but…how did you know what happened to Leon?" Alfred's voice grew faint as his common sense finally caught up to him.

"It took me some time to control it," said Arthur, ignoring Alfred's question. "When I could though, oh such power! Finally, I was able to take care of my loathsome brothers and sister. Do you know, no one ever did recover their bodies? It was simply a matter of rendering them to small enough pieces, and scattering them into rivers or sewers. I buried some of the pieces, far off in the countryside, where no one would find them. With them as feather-brained and unreliable as they are, no one must have found it odd that they went off without a word."

"No," Alfred whispered.

"Do not go weak-willed on me, Alfred. I thought you to have a stronger spirit than that. That was why I chose you, after all."

"Chose me for what?"

"It was several years after I killed my last sibling when I began to feel it. I thought I would do well on my own, but I couldn't. It was the _lonesomeness_, Alfred!" His voice almost sounded as if it were cracking from holding back tears. When he spoke again however, his voice was controlled once more. "I had Leon, but that boy was hardly a suitable companion. No matter what I did, I knew he would always be ridiculously infatuated with his homeland and his silly brother. I could not have that. I wanted someone who I could love and know they loved myself alone. Someone who I could share _everything_ with, even my gift of darkness."

There was a sharp intake of breath, presumably from Alfred. "You. Are. _Insane_."

"Don't worry, my dear," said Arthur, lovingly. "It will not hurt. I was never going to risk the possibility, no matter how small, of killing you with a direct bite. I have been using my blood and saliva to make a potion -"

"God help you and me both, Arthur, I will never drink any of your damned potions!"

This brought a chuckle from Arthur. "Never? Oh Alfred, sweet, naïve Alfred, what do you think I have been mixing into that tea you've been drinking every time you came to visit?"

Another clatter, presumably as Alfred knocked over another chair. I myself nearly fell to the floor from my crouched position. Visions of Leon writhing on the floor flashed before my eyes. Was it too late for Alfred?

"I have been testing it, you see," Arthur continued. "Leon has been taking the potion in his tea as well. Well, I put it in there, at least. He did not know any of this until it was time for his last dosage. And the experiment worked so well with him! It will be even better with you, Alfred, I promise! You do not have to be frightened, I will be there for you the entire time!"

"You want me to...to let you...?

"Do not speak of it as if it were something horrifying. You only have to drink this final dosage, and then it will all be over. Please, Alfred!"

"Never."

The silence that filled the room was chilling. I could easily picture the look of fury spreading across Arthur's face. He never took refusal kindly.

"Very well," he finally said. "Come with me."

Footsteps headed towards the door. I had only a moment to throw myself against the wall, eyes shut tightly, arms behind my back, and legs twisted beneath me. Better to pretend I was still bound and try to take Arthur by surprise.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Alfred sounded as anxious as I felt. "Why do you have that thing?"

"Hush, my love."

I willed myself to remain calm as the door swung open. I could only pray that there was not enough light for him to notice my sweating.

"My God! Matthew! Francis!" Alfred's voice became louder with each word. "What is this, Arthur? Why are they here? Why are they _tied up_? Let go of me! I - oomph!" He was cut off quickly, as Arthur apparently shoved him back.

There were footsteps across the pantry floor. "Does this change your mind?" Arthur asked. "I did not begin this venture unprepared, you know."

His voice was so close, I knew he was right next to us! It was all I could do to not cringe as I heard the sound of a pistol cocking.

"Arthur, _put that away_!" Alfred shouted.

"Your decision now, if you please!" said Arthur. "I planned on using these things on Leon, to make certain that there wasn't an unnecessary werewolf running around London when the experiment was over. You saw to that end though, and silver bullets will kill your friends just as easily as regular ones will!"

I opened my eyelids a sliver, and was just able to see Arthur pressing that hateful pistol of his against Matthieu's forehead. I had to act, but the bastard could easily fire before I could reach him!

"What…what do you want, Arthur?" Alfred said. He sounded as if he were being strangled. "Tell me! I'll do anything, just _don't shoot them_!"

"I think you know what I want, Alfred."

"... Fine."

No.

"Give it to me, and I will do it."

He could not!

Once again, I chanced opening my eyes a sliver. Alfred was walking back out to the kitchen. It looked as if he had a flask in his hand, and he was struggling to undo the stopper. Arthur had stepped out of the pantry after him. Now was my chance! As carefully as I was able, I stood and prepared to assault Arthur. I could do this. I _must_ do this! I _would_!

And then one word, spoken so gently, made my heart freeze.

"Francis?"

_Merde_! Matthieu had woken up! He sounded incoherent still, but he was conscious. Most unfortunate of all though, he did not know to remain quiet.

Soft as it was, Matthieu's voice carried to the kitchen. Arthur heard it and spun around. His eyes widened at the sight of me standing in the doorway. I would have laughed, had circumstances not been so dire.

"Treachery!" Arthur screamed, pointing the pistol at me.

"Arthur, _look at me_!" roared Alfred. As all three of us turned to him, he downed the contents of the flask.

Alfred must have been given a stronger dosage, or perhaps the formula for the potion had been perfected even more. Whatever the case may be, no sooner had Alfred ingested the contents of the flask than he doubled over and screamed.

As Alfred's screams grew deeper and louder, Arthur began to laugh. It was a wild, insane sound. Coupled with the bizarre twitches of his face, I believed him to be more frightening than the oncoming werewolf.

Suddenly, even as he continued to laugh, Arthur doubled over and violently retched. "It is happening!" he crowed, even as tears streamed from his eyes and his body began to shake and warp. "It is happening, at long last it is happening!"

Damnation! We were too late, and the full moon had risen! Now there were two werewolves to navigate past to escape this madhouse! I did not know how to deal with this. All I knew was that _something_ must be done, so I did the only thing I could think of. I hurried to Matthieu and began untying him.

For that moment, there was nothing in the world but the ropes I was pulling at. There were no werewolves in the next room. I was hardly even aware of Matthieu. My ears were buzzing, blocking out all of the screams. My fingers flew, and I did not notice the tugs and straining as Matthieu twisted in panic.

And then my little brother was freed. We were now unimpeded, and able to face our next challenge. By this time, both Arthur and Alfred had completely changed. They both stood in the kitchen, panting in a low, guttural way.

Slowly, befitting the nightmare we were in, one of the werewolves turned to look at us. I could see its green eyes. Arthur, then. I kept a tight grip on Matthieu's arm, preparing to pull him whatever way would lead us from the house quickest. My muscles tensed, as the monster stared at me.

Its ears flattened against its head, and then it lunged.

All at once though, the other werewolf struck! The animal that once was Alfred sunk its teeth into Arthur's neck. I can not say if Alfred acted to save us, or if his mind simply registered Arthur as prey. Regardless, he had the other werewolf in his jaws and was shaking his head, trying to break the skin.

As they fought, I struggled to focus on what had to be done. I wanted to run as far away as possible. Yes, that is what I had to do. I had to bring Matthieu...Matthieu...

"Matthieu, _come_!" I hissed, pulling at his arm gently.

Matthieu whimpered and could not take his eyes off of the two animals clawing and biting at one another, but followed as I led him to the door for servants to come and go. It was closer than running to the front door and, more importantly, there were not snarling monsters between it and ourselves.

We were nearly at the door when a horrifying yelp pierced our ears, followed immediately by a wet ripping sound. Against my will, I froze and looked to see what happened. When I located the source of that sound, I very nearly threw up right then and there. The werewolf that had been Arthur was collapsed on the ground, twitching violently. There was an enormous, bloody gash on his throat. The werewolf that had been Alfred hovered over him, blood running from his jaws and coating his muzzle.

Antonio, do you remember how I said that I did not blame Matthieu for skipping the details of Leon Wang's transformation back to a human body? My friend, I shall be kind and spare you the ghastly description as well. It was horrifying enough to watch the two animals claw and bite each other while still knowing who they once were. To see one of them fall to the ground in a pool of their own blood, with all the wounds now slicing across their flesh for all to see, it becomes hellish.

And in any case, there were more important things for Matthieu and myself to be focusing on, things which I am sure you would rather hear of than about how mangled Arthur Kirkland's body was.

Matthieu and I were drawing nearer and nearer to the servant's exit. I had almost reached the knob, when Alfred decided that Arthur's lifeless body was not very interesting. Sniffing the air, he turned to survey the kitchen.

When he caught sight of us, the hair on the back of his neck went up. He began to growl.

"Alfred," Matthieu whispered. "Alfred, it is only us."

Alfred shifted his attention to Matthieu. Though he continued to growl, his fur seemed to bristle less.

I held my breath. My mind was racing.

"Alfred, please..."

To this day, I can not say precisely what happened in the moment that followed. Alfred gave a bizarre cross between a bark and a growl. In that instant, I _knew_ what would happen.

I seized Matthieu by the shoulders and shoved him to the other side of the kitchen.

I saw his terrified face as he regained his balance. I smiled before -

My heart slammed against my ribcage as I was thrown to the floor. Something heavy and furry and terrifying had me pinned, and oh God, oh God, it smelled, and -

I was _screaming_. My shoulder was on fire. It was coming apart. It was wet, and I could not move my right arm. My left arm was flailing, but it did no good. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice was screaming that it got my shoulder and my throat would be next if I was not clever. But in this pain, I did not wish to be clever. I wished to die.

This looked to be very likely.

Suddenly, I was nearly deafened by a sound like thunder. All the world froze, before it was shattered by another thunderclap.

And as suddenly as it began, everything ended.

The werewolf went limp on me. With some struggling, I was able to wiggle out from under it. I had to be careful how I moved, as my shoulder hurt like the devil himself stabbed it. Examining it, I could see that it had already begun to bleed a frightening amount. I had to have it bandaged up as quickly as possible.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a whimper. Matthieu stood in the center of the kitchen, looking utterly shocked. Quietly, he unclenched his fingers. The pistol he had been clinging to, that terrible, wonderful thing that Arthur had abandoned on the floor upon transforming, fell from his grip.

As if half-asleep, he staggered towards Alfred's body. It had already shrunken back to its true, human form. Unlike Arthur, who died with a look of insane triumph on his face, Alfred's body was serene. The eyes were closed and the face relaxed. Were it not for all of the blood, he might have been sleeping.

Matthieu dropped to his knees. He took his friend's stiffening hand in his own. He said nothing, did nothing. He simply knelt and watched.

"Matthieu," I whispered, gently touching my brother's shoulder. "Matthieu, we must go."

Matthieu turned to me. His face was filthy and streaked from his tears. "Go?"

"Yes, _mon petite frere_. We must leave now, before we are seen by anyone else."

"I - I understand." Matthieu took a deep breath. "If you help me, I think we can manage Alfred."

I closed my eyes, knowing Matthieu would hate what I had to tell him. "We can not take Alfred's body with us."

He stared at me, eyes wide.

"I am sorry," I said. "The body must be found. If we move it, there will be questions. The best we can do is wait for someone to find it on their own."

My brother stiffened. "_No_."

"Matthieu -"

"We can't do this! We can't just leave him alone!"

"It will not be for long. Matthieu, this _must_ be done. We can not be found here with these bodies. Do you understand?"

There was a knocking at the door. I froze.

"Arthur Kirkland?" a man called through the door. "Arthur Kirkland, are you in there? This is the police! We need to speak with you about Mr. Leon Wang."

"You see?" I whispered. "Everything is already suspicious."

Matthieu stared at the body of his friend, lying in on the floor in a pool of his own blood. "Will he be found?" he asked, so softly that I nearly did not hear him.

At the door, the policeman pounded away.

"You heard that man, did you not?" I replied. "They will come in here. They have to. Alfred will be found."

"And will he be sent home to his family?"

Trying to ignore the cries from the other side of the front door, I took Matthieu's hand and began to guide him towards the servant's exit. "He certainly will," I said. "He will be sent home with the best possible care, and his parents will be overwhelmed to have him home. I promise."

"Mr. Kirkland?" called the policeman. "Are you in there? Is _anyone_ in there? Open up!"

We walked out the door without another word.

* * *

You might imagine the terrible state we were all in later that evening, when a policeman knocked on our door. I greeted him, after giving Gilbert enough time to lead Matthieu to the privacy of his bedroom. We all knew the reason for the visit, just as we knew that Matthieu would lose control of his senses and likely say something damning, if the death of Alfred was brought up around him.

The policeman was kind. He explained everything as gently as he could, and assumed that the dull look that surely haunted my eyes was shock from the news. He asked me if there was anything I knew that might explain what happened tonight.

"I have no idea," I said. "We had been trying to keep our friend here, to recover. Alfred had been very, very ill, you see, since he first came to London and met Arthur Kirkland. He was feeling a bit better, so he went out tonight and never came back. We were so very worried about him!"

Strictly speaking, none of that was a lie.

The policeman gave his sympathies for our loss, and asked me if I knew how to reach Alfred's family. Upon being assured that all the affairs would be in order, he tipped his hat and went on his way.

The entire time, Matthieu sat on his bed and cried. The sounds of his sobs were muffled as Gilbert held him tightly.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

And from there, all that remained was the grief. Matthieu returned to his studies in Canada. He has written to me several times, though never over anything more than a brief account of what he has been doing, and a question or two on my own affairs. He has yet to see me in person.

Matthieu never answered my questions on how Alfred's death affected his loved ones in America. He told me the official story the police sent to Alfred's family - that Arthur killed Leon in a fit of insanity and fatally shot Alfred, while Alfred fought back in self defense and tore Arthur to pieces in his death throes. My brother never gave me any numbers or addresses, so I was never able to send the family a letter expressing my condolences. I was not even told where Alfred was buried, and thus could not pay my final respects.

I tried as best I could to find some means of contacting Yao Wang, Leon's beloved older brother. I learned that the police scoured every inch of Arthur's home, but found nothing on how to reach Leon's only apparent family. To this day, I chase every possible lead in the hopes of tracking down Yao. Gilbert thinks me mad, but I would hope someone would do the same if my Matthieu was lost so far from our home.

I suppose you will think me a failure, Antonio, given how ineffectual I have been. You would be right.

* * *

The room was utterly silent as Francis sipped his wine. Antonio stared expectantly at his friend, trying very hard not to fidget.

"Well?" Antonio asked, when Francis showed no inclination to say anything more.

"Well what?" asked Francis, smiling slightly.

"That was why you will never go back to London?"

"That is right."

"And what next?"

"That really is all," said Francis. "I promise, the story ends there."

"That is not what I meant," said Antonio. "You…you said that Arthur bit you, no? And he was a wolf when it happened? So if this all is true, then…then are you…?"

"Am I now a werewolf?" Francis rested his chin on his cupped hand and smiled at Antonio. "I would be, wouldn't I? If, that is."

"If what?"

"If it all did happen."

"But you said it did! You said this was the story as to why you never go back to London!"

"I might have exaggerated. I might have made the whole thing up out of boredom. You never know. Arthur Kirkland did exist, of that I promise you. Gilbert, Matthieu, Alfred, and myself all did visit London that fateful time. And Arthur and Alfred did come to their deaths by the end of it all. But was there a werewolf? You could believe what the police said, and think that it was simply the work of a madman."

Antonio licked his lips, screwing up his courage for his next question. "May I see your shoulder, then?"

Francis's eyes went wide, and he gently ran his hand over his right shoulder. "But why my shoulder, _mon ami_?"

"You know why, Francis. Do not play games with me. Show me if there is a scar or not."

Francis swallowed and nodded. "Come closer, and I will show you."

Both men were completely silent as Antonio stood and walked towards Francis. He did not dare to even breath. When he had drawn near enough, he nodded.

Without taking his eyes off of Antonio, pulled down the collar of his shirt. He gently stretched it out, until most of his shoulder was showing.

The skin was as smooth and unblemished as the rest of Francis's body.

The two men stared at each other for a moment. They burst out laughing.

"So, I guess that proves it," said Antonio, drawing back. "No scar, no bite, no werewolf! That is correct, no?"

"I suppose so," said France, letting go of his collar. As the fabric slid over his shoulder, a smile slid over his face. "However…"

"However what?"

Francis stood up. His smile widened and, for the briefest of moments, there was a hungry look about his eyes. "Arthur did say the wounds heal quickly, did he not?"

Antonio could say nothing. He leaned against the table for support, gaping as his friend went to leave the room.

At the door, Francis paused. "Believe what you want, Antonio," he called over his shoulder. "I bid you goodnight. And do hurry home, won't you? It is not safe to be out, with the streets so dark."

It took a moment for Antonio to find his voice again. Images of fur and fang and blood danced before his eyes, all drowned in the sound of screams and the burn of the moonlight. He licked his lips, as if it would help the things he wished to say come easier. But it didn't matter, surely. It was just a joke. Francis liked to joke, and that was what kept Antonio sane. Finally, he managed, "Francis…please be careful!"

"I always am and always shall be," Francis promised. "And worry not, I know these streets well. In any case, there is a nearly-full moon in the sky to guide me tonight."

And he was gone.

* * *

**Author's Notes: Thanks for reading, and a Happy Halloween to all!**


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